Once in the store a had my thread in under a minute and tried to direct Korbin to the check out. He went for the craft supplies looking for anything to go with his army guys. This is where the ugliness really began. He pulled books off a shelf, knocked down a display of fabric, and was running for the lamps when I caught him. He scratched me so hard that blood was dripping down my arm on the floor. I was scared to move to get a rag for my own mess, thinking of the mess he could make of the entire home decor area.
He finally seemed calm enough so I ask for a tissue... he bolted for the door. I put the thread on the checkout counter and went after him. He sat down by the outside of the store near a line of shopping carts. I couldn't keep him from slamming the carts against the glass without getting hurt so I gave up and called for the police to assist me in getting him safely to the behavior hospital. OK, I didn't really give up. I let go and ask for help. So anyway, by the time the popo showed up Korbin was in the van and insisted that he would ride safely with me instead of having to ride in the back of a police car. He's been there before and it didn't turn out well for him. I thanked them for the help and we went to our usual oasis of crisis intervention.
Once there it was the same check in that Korbin and I have been through probably 8 times. They call the psychiatrist who agrees that he's a danger to himself and others so they can help him there for 3-10 days. Yes, checking my baby into a mental hospital hurts, but it's a hurt I've felt to many times. Knowing I'm doing the best thing for his long term outcome comforts the sting... a little. I drove home where my Jason was cooking dinner and Aidan should have been cleaning his room. As I took off my shoes and put my purse away the phone rang. It was a nurse letting me know that they did an EKG on Korbin as a precaution because he's on such a high dose of anti psychotics and they planned to change medication. His QTc was to high and so was his resting heart rate. The psychiatrist said that he had to go to the local children's hospital for a heart workup. Once he's a patient in the behavior hospital I can't be the one to transport him so they called for an ambulance. One of their staff followed and I headed back out to meet them.
It was a long ugly night. Korbin was still very agitated from the day's events. He did allow them to put in an IV to take blood, but came unglued when he saw that they were going to leave it in for medication. I was able to distract him with episodes of American Pickers and Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives. We used the multiple EKG stickers to make little ships and blasters to battle on the stretcher. About midnight the doctor said that his heart was normal enough to go back to the behavior hospital and change medications. Korbin wanted to go home, but he had to go back for his safety.
When the non-emergency ambulance finally showed up about 3am he was asleep. It was the last of the calm. He decided that he was NOT going back and proved to us how serious he was. Over the next hour we ended up with about 8 security guards (mostly off duty cops), 2 EMT's, 1 doctor, and countless nurses trying to physically get Korbin on the stretcher and to stay on it. A shot of Ativan only made him into an angry drunk. I had to stay out of the way and hide my emotion as much as possible while the team strapped, tied, and restrained him. He has always been quite the little Houdini. We finally got him safe to transport. Thankfully the ride back to the behavior hospital allowed him time to calm down. When we arrived I helped untie and unstrap him. He got up and walked to the back without so much as a goodbye. He went straight to his unit and slept until 10am.
The doctor has already changed him from Thorzine to Zyprexa and added Cogentin to counter the side effects of it all. He had an EEG a couple of weeks ago because we thought he was having seizures, but they think it may be EPS (Extraperamital Symptoms) from the Thorzine. Over the years I've had to get help, the hard way, for my first and second mothers in law. Those events were nothing compared to the pain of having to allow people to force my own baby to get the help he needs for his own mental health issues. I can't imagine the trauma he must feel. I don't want to imagine. Two days later I still can't process my end of that night.
As of today he's handling the new medication well without side effects. His heart is still happy. The nurse said he was trying to make friends with some boys who were causing trouble so she redirected him to a more suitable group of kids. He still won't talk to me on the phone, but that's his usual. People aren't really important to him unless he needs something. Once he decides it's time for a new toy from home he'll get on the phone long enough to tell me which Angry Birds to pack up. Weekends are visitation time and we should be able to see him tomorrow during family therapy. Over the last 7 years this has become our version of normal. Phone time is 7-8pm weeknights. Family visits are weekends 2-4. Make sure all the clothes are labeled and nothing has tie strings. Buy shoes with straps instead of laces. Always keep extra socks and undies on hand because they never come back home. These things I can get used to. Nights like we had Monday? I hope I never EVER have to get used to those.